Part 3 — THE CANAL ZONE ARCHITECT’S WEDDING. (PART III.)

T was a Sunday afternoon when the ship on which this ill-assorted pair took passage reached its dock at Cristobal. “The boys” were out in force to see what “Mickey” Vickins’ bride looked like. There was a murmur of suppressed admiration when she walked down the ladder, and each took a long breath when he saw the “architect” walking behind the fair girl with every appearance of ownership. “The Vickingstadt has put it all over us,” said one man, laughing. “She certainly is a beautiful girl,” exclaimed another. “ ‘Mickey Vickins’ never told the truth before, but he told it this time,” said one of the dry-dock gang, “so I am out $25, for I bet a feller last night that ‘Mickey’ ’ud bring back a kitchen mechanic. The joke is on me, all right.”

And then “the boys,” with one voice, shouted, “What’s the matter with ‘Mickey’ Vickins? He’s all right!”

They gave three hearty cheers for “Mickey” Vickins and his bride, and then something happened. The much-admired Hulda, not understanding what it was all about, and in her haste to get ashore, did not notice where she was going, and ran into the arms of a man from her own country, who, upon looking at her closely, embraced her and tenderly kissed her.

“God be praised and glorified! What am I up against now?” exclaimed the astounded and disgusted Vickingstadt. The man proved to be Hulda’s brother-in-law, who, when her sister had died, left Germany for parts unknown.

“Who is that old man?” he asked fiercely, pointing to the unfortunate “architect.” Hulda talked at some length in her own tongue, wrung her hands, cried and begged her brother-in-law to take her away from her husband.

“Come, darlint,” said the unsuspecting “Mickey” Vickins, “come along. Shure, I’m not understanding what you do be sayin’ to your Dutch friend, but I won’t have the dry-dock gang hear it, or they’ll harrish the life out of me, the blaguards.”

“Go away, you old devil!” said Hulda, in very good English, which was readily understood by the crowd.

“Praises be, ’tis call the polis I’ll be after doin’ if you don’t come with me to our beautiful home that’s all ready for us.”

“You scoundrel, you kidnapped her from her own lover on the dock in New York City,” shouted the brother-in-law.

“I did not,” said the husband.

“You did,” said Hulda.

At this the little man became angry and tried to pull her away from her countryman. In the meantime, the crowd having closed in about the angry trio, shouted, “Go to it, ‘Mickey,’ ” when several policemen interfered.

“ ‘Mickey’ kidnapped her, all right,” said one of his friends, laughing.

“Who’d ever thought it?” said another.

“He’ll have to go to jail for it, poor devil,” smilingly spoke a third.

Meanwhile, the “architect” was busy showing his marriage certificate to a policeman, who, upon examining it, ordered Hulda to go home with her husband, at the same time telling the brother-in-law to go about his business or he would arrest him. Then the Vickingstadt seized the arm of the sulky Hulda and, amid cheers of the crowd, walked off the dock in triumph.

* * *

One Sunday morning about three months after her arrival Hulda ordered her servant to prepare sauerkraut for dinner. “Mickey” Vickins ordered corned beef and cabbage, and threw the sauerkraut out with his own hands. After Hulda had given the order she went for a walk, and came back with an appetite for the good old German dish, to find the Irish substitute awaiting her. She flew into a rage at once, and, unknown to the Vickingstadt, sent for her brother-in-law. When he arrived she poured the whole terrible tale of woe into his willing ear. After the “architect” had finished his nice boiled dinner he tiptoed to his wife’s bedroom and found it deserted. “The Lord be praised,” he said to himself, “where did the colleen go to?”

A small window opened from Hulda’s room on to the back veranda, and he was just in time to witness the condolences of the brother-in-law, along with certain other little tendernesses which made him feel sick at heart. As this is not a novel, I must refrain from summing up his feelings, and shall confine myself to facts. I happened to look through my window just as he tiptoed from his front door, after having looked at his wife conversing with her brother-in-law. He looked as if he wished me to speak, and I bade him a “good morning.”

“I am your neighbor beyant, ma’am,” said he, coming close to the window and speaking in a whisper. “I want for you to come with me an’ see a sight that’ll freeze the blood in your veins, if you’re an honest woman, which I think ye are.”

Without saying a word I opened the door and stepped lightly upon the sidewalk beside him.

“What has happened?” I asked.

“Somethin’ fierce,” he replied. “Shure the blood is curdlin’ in the veins of me; but don’t open your mouth, for I don’t want the blaguards disturbed.”

“Ah! there are thieves in your house,” said I, in a whisper.

“Worse nor that,” said he.

A shiver went through me. “Has some one been murdered?” I queried, halting at the threshold of his door.

“Yis,” he answered in a husky voice, and relapsing completely into the vernacular, “the sowl in me is murthered.”

I walked behind him mechanically. He entered the bedroom on tiptoe, and bade me follow him. It did not occur to me then that I had, rather unconsciously, been lured from my own domicile to the bedroom of a man to whom I had never spoken before. It seemed perfectly proper that I should follow this little old man, just as if it had been a little old white-haired woman. He tiptoed to the little window and pointed to something outside. I fully believed that I was to see something awful, so I closed my eyes, almost involuntarily, it would seem, as I walked to where he stood. When I opened them they looked upon the lovely Hulda and the brother-in-law. Her cheek was close to his cheek; she was looking into his eyes, and both were smiling. I smiled, too, and looked on approvingly, for I had believed for three months that my neighbors were father and daughter.

“Isn’t that purty conduct for a well-brought-up Dutch gurl, an’ the wife of as good a man as ever wore shoe leather?” he asked. His voice sounded hollow and strange. At the word “wife” I turned and fled, for the full significance burst upon me.

“Come back,” he called, “an’ tell me what you think of it.”

I paid no attention to the request, and gained my own apartment very much out of breath, but in a few minutes the little man returned and said that the girl was having a fit. So I followed him again, This time there was no mystery; I knew only too well that there had been a quarrel. When I returned to the bedroom the fair Hulda lay stretched upon the floor in what appeared to be a swoon. There was a black girl bathing her forehead with bayrum, and all about was dire confusion.

“You had no right to tell me to cook that cabbage, and you had no right to throw away that sauerkraut,” said the negro servant, as she helped me to lift her mistress from the floor to the bed.

“Shure, there’s nothing in the world as bad for a woman in her condition as sauerkraut,” answered the little man, meekly.

On hearing the words “sauerkraut” Hulda became quite hysterical and began to kick and to abuse the “architect.”

“What am I to do at all, at all?” said he, as he endeavored to stroke her head, in return for which she pinched and tried to bite him. “God be praised and glorified,” ejaculated the husband. “I thry to plaze the creature, an’ she has everything that I can get for her. Say, Hulda, is it your brother-in-law you want?”